Warm Thoughts
by Bethlauria
Summary: The Fellowship makes it through the Redhorn Gate, meeting a different set of adventures on their way to Mordor. Character interaction is emphasized and Boromir figures prominently.
1. Default Chapter

Warm Thoughts  
  
By: Bethlauria  
  
**  
  
"The Tooks have a long and noble history," Pippin argued with zealful pride.  
  
"A long history, noble and otherwise," Merry answered automatically, taking a bite of his late-supper apple before turning back to his cousin for the inevitable retort.  
  
Laid out on a bedroll a few feet away, Boromir listened to the hobbits' familiar debate with his eyes closed, feigning sleep. Given his inability to reach the true state of slumber, he was forced to employ the masquerade to escape the concern of his fellows', but a grin at Pippin's wounded pride threatened to expose the game. He snorted inwardly as he fought to squelch it, aware of the irony that he now sought out the hobbits during the fellowship's rest period.  
  
The first days of the journey, he thought he'd go mad at their inane chatter, but that was the war-weary soldier's reaction; men in the field were anything but possessed of cheery optimism or appreciation of simple pleasures. While he might not agree with the reasoning behind this quest, he was soldier enough to follow through on the council's will and his own word; but he knew his opinion on the matter initially colored his attitude and suspicions toward his fellows, making him reticent and aloof.  
  
But after many weeks spent on the road together, the hobbits light hearts and childlike antics drew him out, making him befriend the small creatures and open up to his other companions. In fact, he mourned the point each night when the halflings finally quieted down for sleep, curling around each other like puppies for warmth.  
  
It was then that he could hear it: the ring and its whispers.  
  
It talked in a voice that he could almost mistake for his own. It whispered arguments against the quest, against its destruction. In fact, it often mimicked the words he himself voiced at the council. When he was especially tired and weary or when the fellowship's spirits were down as a whole, he would think the thoughts his own and he'd look at Frodo with a mixture of pity, respect and murderous intent.  
  
It was that same inane chatter that brought him back to himself, though, distracting him from the ring's voice and its lures. When he'd awaken, it'd be as if from a trance, and he'd be convinced in that first lucid moment of the ring's evil intent. That part of him that was still his own was not at all convinced he could hold out against it.  
  
**  
  
"Man of Gondor, awake. Your snores are giving our enemies direction," Aragorn said with an amused grin as he nudged Boromir with his boot tip.  
  
Boromir sprang up to his elbows at the nudge; no batting of eyelids to wake slowly, but a soldier's snap to full awareness once roused. From the look of his fellows as they grinned, he knew their efforts at rousing him had not been easy.  
  
He shook his head slightly and sprang to his feet, wondering how it was that he finally fell into deep sleep - a dreamless sleep at that.  
  
"We didn't have the heart to wake you," Pippin informed from his elbow, holding up a metal disk with a breakfast of sausage and stale bread spread across its top.  
  
Boromir took the offering, but his brows pinched in a frown as he waited further explanation.  
  
"It was generally decided that you needed the winks," Pippin whispered gravelly, as though a great council had convened to take up the matter.  
  
"And why are my fellows so concerned with my sleep that they'd let me miss a watch?"  
  
"Because it's generally observed that you do little of the former, and need strength for the latter," Pippin replied.  
  
Once he followed the references, Boromir's brow sprang up at the hobbit's observation, both in surprise and in ire that his strength was questioned by the company; but Pippin was back to his own plate with lightening speed, having already forgotten his arguments in favor of the mornings sausage.  
  
Boromir's mouth screwed up in annoyance as he lifted his gaze to look about their camp. He noticed that Aragorn had taken his breakfast to a great stone at the camp's edge, which undoubtedly afforded him a broad view of the valley below.  
  
"If council's be formed to discuss my readiness for battle, I'd have hoped I'd be called on to testify," Boromir said as he approached the man. While ire was clear in his tone, so too were a mouthful of sausage and a measure of good humor.  
  
Aragorn sighed before letting his eyes dart to Boromir in greeting. "If a council ever is formed on such an occasion, you will be the first to know." Looking down at the morning's fare, he said, "This council you speak of was nothing more than Pippin's inability to wake you. I was already awake, so I took your watch."  
  
Boromir frowned, knowing there was more to it than that.  
  
Aragorn shrugged. "I'll admit of an equal measure of pity and envy at finding you so deeply asleep. I understand too well the toll of the ring's whispers."  
  
Boromir seized upon the casually dropped admission, asking somewhat desperately, "The ring whispers to you?"  
  
Aragorn turned and looked at him with a sincere and somber eye. "As it does you.and perhaps Gimli. Legolas and Gandalf have greater resistance."  
  
Boromir snorted in disgust as he digested the full import of Aragorn's comment. He responded by spinning his mostly-empty plate into the dirt at his feet. "Because man is the most corruptible, you'd argue." He blustered for a moment, finally taking a step toward his future king to plead his cause. "Why do you not see your own brothers as the noble and proud race they are?"  
  
"It is no condemnation," Aragorn said tiredly. "It is but a fact that man's strength and weakness lies in his passion, and it is on this which the ring preys."  
  
"Hobbits are passionate, but you do not sully their race with suspicion and doubt, but consider it above all others in this quest," Boromir argued, walking away a step to plant his hands at his waist. He shook his head, looking down to the ground as he consciously tried to calm himself.  
  
Aragorn rolled his eyes at the comment. "Yes, they are a passionate folk, but their passions lie in the direction of food and merriment. No, the ring would seek first the warrior who can do its bidding."  
  
Boromir turned to look at Aragorn at the argument, all bluster gone as he asked calmly and reasonably, "Then why trust the quest to the likes of you and I? Aren't we fated to succumb to the ring and its charms?"  
  
"Crebain!"  
  
Legolas' hissed warning cut short their debate, directing the fellows' attention to a dark cloud in the sky to their south.  
  
By this point in their journey, the company was well versed in seeking cover to avoid the spies. Sam automatically used dirt to douse the fire, while the rest of the company disappeared among the brush and trees with practiced ease. Boromir and Aragorn were the last to take cover, taking but a moment to glance at each other before making haste.  
  
After several tense minutes, the bird's cries fell away. When Legolas returned to the center of the clearing, the rest of the company took it as their cue to come out from under tree and beside stone.  
  
"Their searches are becoming more frequent. I wonder that they've not picked up our trail, even if they haven't spotted our company directly," Legolas said.  
  
Straightening up from his stopped position beneath a pine, Gandalf said gravelly, "I have no doubt but that they know our approximate location. It cannot be helped.  
  
"Then how can we hope to cross the Redhorn Gate where no bush or tree would hide our path?" Boromir asked. "The road up the mountain will expose us to more than just the elements."  
  
Gandalf turned to look at Caradhras' looming shadow. "Sauron's arm reaches far, but not this far, thank Valor. No, my fear lies in the threat from Isengard." His eyes scanned the snowy peaks as if evaluating a foe before he turned back to his fellows. His tone passing off the danger, he said, "But don't forget you travel yourself with a wizard."  
  
Boromir just looked at him dubiously. "Alas, I had forgotten," he said in a tone that belied his seriousness. "Let us hope your rhymes are up to the task."  
  
Gandalf shot a glare at the man from Gondor, but the fair fellow had already turned away to help Sam collect the cookware around the hastily doused fire.  
  
Sam was muttering about the ruined sausage lying in the dust by the overturned frying pan. Boromir patted the hobbit on the shoulder. "In every war, young hobbit, there are innocent casualties," he said. The remark earned him a small smile from the hobbit; but as Sam gingerly picked up a ruined sausage, his remorse for the lost meal was plain.  
  
"A little dirt never hurt anyone," Pippin chimed in as he crouched by the site. "My folk would never abandon food so callously."  
  
"What then would it take, little one, before it would be given up to the scavengers?" Boromir asked.  
  
"We've got a general rule of thumb," Pippin answered in an educating tone. "It's a measure based in part on where the food is located and the length of time it was.ah.located there. Kind of a complicated calculation."  
  
"Ah, well as long as you have some standard," Boromir said with a twinkle in his eye. "Save it if you will. For myself, I have a rule that speaks to more flavorful seasoning." At that, he clomped Sam on the back again and stood up from bended knee, grabbing the downed pot and a plate to clean and pack.  
  
"Hasn't he ever heard the expression 'Salt of the Earth," Pippin whispered to Sam, gingerly taking a sausage from the ground to wipe a finger load of dirt from its skin.  
  
**  
  
"I will add a word of advice, if I may," Boromir said, addressing the company at large. He'd not been part of the day-to-day council that decided their path, and seemed to accept his exclusion with the same grace as the Prince of Milkwood and heir of Gloin. Given the man's previous reticence, however, Aragorn and Gandalf looked at him in surprise when he thrust himself into their debate.  
  
"I was born under the shadow of the White Mountains and know something of journeys in high places. We shall meet bitter cold, if no worse, before we come down on the other side. It will not help us to keep so secret that we are frozen to death. When we leave here, where there are still a few trees and bushes, each of should carry a faggot of wood, as large as he can bear."  
  
"And Bill could take a bit more, couldn't you, lad?" said Sam. The pony looked at him mournfully.  
  
"Very well," said Gandalf. "But we must not use the wood - not unless it is a choice between fire and death."  
  
Decided on a course of action, the fellows went about their business of collecting wood and packing supplies. While trees and bush were plentiful, dry wood was not, resulting in a delay of a better part of an hour as each fellow collected his share; but all were near finished with their preparations before the noon hour.  
  
Boromir bent down to make a crude satchel with which to carry his faggot. When he was done, he looked up in time to see Merry straighten with his own heavy pack, but it was the hobbit's bare feet that drew his attention. A man would have to be blind not to notice a hobbit's extraordinary feet, but were they really weather roughened enough to withstand the cold of the upper climes?  
  
"Need you fashion some kind of boot for the trek through the pass?  
  
Merry was eye to eye with the squatting Boromir. He followed the man's gaze down to his feet, lifting a foot up to see what had him so enthralled. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he was something at a loss, until he remembered that men had need of stiff leather for protection of foot and hoof. He finally answered, "Have no fear; hobbit feet are hardy. Would that I could fashion some kind of covering for the all of me," he joked, already cold in the late autumn shade.  
  
Boromir nodded, turning to look at the imposing peaks above. He finally stood himself. "Would that we could fashion covering for all of us with the enemies' spies about." Then, with a smile he looked down at his small companion. "Shall we?"  
  
Aragorn and Gandalf took the lead, winding their way out of the scrub into the rocky foothills of the greater peak. As they wound their way upward, all trees fell away, exposing them to the sun's warmth. They went easily on their way, passing what was obviously the snow line from the previous winter with no event.  
  
Between the upward trek, layered clothing, and warm sunshine, none of the company could complain of cold. In fact, the men were actually sweating freely and wondering now at the need for their layered clothing.  
  
When they passed around a low cliff, Gandalf stopped to examine the pass ahead. As his eyes followed the craggy peaks of Caradhras, he looked anything but pleased at their easy passage. The path now held patches of thin snow and ice, but they were easily maneuvered around and caused no hardship - nothing like they feared or might have expected.  
  
Winding ever upward, it was clear that their path would wind around Caradhras to the south; but as they hiked, it also became clear that the pass was actually a great channel between two imposing walls of rock.  
  
As the sun completed its trek across the sky, they moved into the shadow cast by the great peak, and the climbers finally grew chilled as they parted from the sun's direct rays. No one considered stopping to rest; all had set the pinnacle of Caradhras as their marker. Once they entered into the narrow channel that sliced through the edge of the mountain, the path leveled out, making their hike much easier; although they felt dwarfed by the pale gray granite, which rose ever higher on either side of them.  
  
Boromir in particular scanned either side of the channel's long, unbroken expanse, feeling jittery and nervous. "I don't like this," he muttered, drawing Gimli's attention.  
  
"The dwarves have many tales of the wrath of Caradhras. I hope she understands the nature of our quest, and thus shows us some pity."  
  
"Doubtful," Boromir snorted. "It seems more likely that we're being lured into a trap from which there would be no escape."  
  
Gimli took a deep breath, letting his eyes scan up the sheer cliffs on either side. "I mean not to give offense, young man, but I hope you're just caught up with the legends of the mountain and are not foreshadowing our own dark demise."  
  
Boromir didn't answer but continued to watch.  
  
After another hour of walking, he realized the light was failing. Caught in the chasm, there was no method by which they could mark the time; but as near as he could tell, dusk should not yet be upon them. Stopping to look straight up to that part of the sky still visible above the great cliffs above them, he noticed dark clouds moving past, the blue ski hidden beneath their moisture soaked billows. "A storm is brewing," he announced, causing the rest of the company to stop and look at the signs for themselves.  
  
"Then we need to make haste," Aragorn concluded, looking back grimly along the fellowship's line. All looked travel weary and cold, but none complained when he turned forward to continue the trek.  
  
The company trudged along as darkness fell. While no new snow hampered their efforts, a bitter wind whistled through the channel in concentrated bursts, cutting through the carefully structured layers of clothing and stealing away whatever warmth that had built up between the folds.  
  
As they moved onward, the wind grew more constant, causing them to lean forward into it to make any headway. The hobbits had the worst of it, being so slight of frame; they were eventually forced to hold hands in a chain back from Sam and Bill. Even so, Pippin's feet blew out from under him, and he was blown like a leaf back down the path, knocking first into Gimli and then into the rock that was Boromir - who kept hold of him thereafter.  
  
When the first snow fell, it abandoned flakes and pelted instead with ice, crusting beards and lashes. It didn't take long for the storm to grow in stature and the snow to start blowing at them with blinding force.  
  
The hobbits were left to shuffle along, their faces almost completely covered by their cloaks, making little progress worth continuing. Boromir finally picked Pippin up when he saw him sway in exhaustion. When he felt Pippin's cold, dead weight, he shouted to the line's leaders, "This will be the death of the hobbits!"  
  
Aragorn stopped and looked to Gandalf. The climb up Caradhras was Aragorn's choice, making him leader upon its slopes. In spite of his dread of Moria, he was starting to doubt the path. He met the wizard's eyes before turning back to his fellows. "The Sky is widening now. Once the channel opens, we'll find shelter," he shouted over the shrill voice of the wind.  
  
"Shelter," Sam muttered doubtfully. His eyes darted about the channel and then up the rocky peaks where the wind could be seen wearing away its cold, hard surface.  
  
The company continued, finally rounding a rocky outcropping that marked the end of the narrow channel. Aragorn immediately headed around it, scanning the landscape for cave or cover from the shrill wind. The going was slow; the snow had piled quite high where there was room for it to drift. The fellows followed Aragorn as he made his way around a jumble of boulders. They were apparently a part of the crumbled cliff. Right at this jumble of rocks, the mountain seemed to turn in on itself, the boulders and granite creating a horseshoe shaped area. It was getting snow from above, but little of the harsh wind they'd been battling.  
  
"We'll stop here to take what rest we can while the worst of the storm passes over," Aragorn decreed.  
  
The hobbits looked about doubtfully, thinking their own scan of the area must have missed some obvious merit. They finally moved deeply into the alcove to sit with their backs against a big bolder. Bill automatically moved to stand before them, shielding them from the bitter gale, if not the snow.  
  
Boromir looked about, glad to be out of the narrow channel; but the hobbits, to his eye, seemed to be sinking into the white stuff.  
  
"Might it not be time for a fire?" he asked in frustration, both at the bone-chilling cold and the need to ask the question.  
  
"It would be announcing our presence," Gandalf muttered, but more to himself than in any real objection to Boromir's question.  
  
"Better alive and marked, then hidden to all but the scavengers."  
  
Gandalf thought on the comment for a moment before nodding his agreement. "Make your fire"  
  
In answer, Boromir swung the satchel down from his shoulder, opening its fold so that the wood would land at his feet. Gimli had already proven himself the most adept at fire starting, so the dwarf grunted once and sank to his knees before the wood. After several minutes of trying to strike a spark in the wet and windy storm, he looked up at Boromir with a scowl.  
  
Boromir in turn looked to see how his fellows were faring. The hobbits were huddled together as they awaited Gimli, but Boromir realized they hadn't moved in some time, He went over and shook them awake, plucking one from the end and dusting off the wet snow. He turned back to his companions hoping between them they could figure out some plan.  
  
There was little visibility outside their little cove, so there was no option in going onward - they'd likely plummet off the path into a chasm and never be heard from again. If they remained, however, they'd certainly turn into icicles without a fire. That image brought to mind one of his brother's tales, the story of Pirscha and his house of ice.  
  
"We can build a shelter," he exclaimed, depositing Pippin on his cousin's lap as he enthusiastically knelt down in the snow. He used his great arms to sweep the snow nearest him into a small mound.  
  
"Out of snow?" Aragorn asked.  
  
"Out of snow," Boromir confirmed in excitement. "It can hold heat when sculpted into a shelter."  
  
Aragorn looked to Gimli and they both knelt down beside Boromir to start shifting the snowy landscape to their own ends.  
  
**  
  
With the shelter of the snow walls, and a ceiling fashioned of Boromir's shield and sword and Legolas' cloak, the company was finally able to start a fire.  
  
"But how can a city be made out of ice?" Pippin asked doubtfully.  
  
"Ice can be carved through both brute force and heat. In the northern climbs, melting would be slow. Legend has it that Pirscha even had an ice replica of his favorite hound fashioned to meet visitors at his door."  
  
"What manner of creature was this Pirscha? That he was able to work this kind of magic?"  
  
Boromir hazarded a glance to Gandalf. "I hear tell he was a wizard much like our friend here, although not so drab." A snort could be plainly heard over Boromir's dissertation. "He had robes of silver that some supposed were made out of ice and flake, a long flowing beard and pointed blue hat.  
  
"It does sound like Gandalf," Frodo mused.  
  
Sam was silent all through Boromir's long tale, leaning back in a cranny with his arms folded over his chest. Out of the corner of his mouth, he said in mild admonishment, "But our wizard doesn't go in for a lot of nonsense.ice houses," he said, shaking his head at the idea. "The inhabitants would freeze to death, sure as we're going to when we run out of wood."  
  
"Samwise Gamgee," Frodo said, turning to him. "The Gaffer would have your head to hear your moaning and groaning."  
  
"I'm sorry Master Frodo, but the last thing I want to hear when I've got my back up against a block of ice is a story of some more. Tales of hot cocoa and warm beds would be more to my liking."  
  
Boromir put his hands up in supplication. "My apologies, little one. Your point is well taken: we can at least think warm thoughts."  
  
"What happened to this wizard?" Pippin asked with evident excitement. "Might we trip over his doorway on the way down the mountain?"  
  
"I've heard several tales, all from men coming out of cold climbs, that tell of carved faces in snow peaks and whispers among their granite walls - both from the Misty mountains and the White mountains both. My brother believes Pirscha still haunts the high reaches. For myself, I think Pirscha is a creature from legend and lore.  
  
Pippin nodded glumly, clearly disappointed. Merry, on the other hand, was using his fire-warmed finger to rub a channel into the wall of snow at his side, noting how he was slowly melting a groove.  
  
"'Tis time at least some of us got some rest," Aragorn ordered, sounding very much like a reproachful father.  
  
"Is there a point to a watch?" Gimli asked, his rumbled baritone echoing in the small confines.  
  
"I think not. The snow will obscure any possible tracking, but we'll have a tough march through it on the morrow."  
  
As the company mapped out sleeping arrangements within the limited keep, Aragorn muttered to Boromir, "You're more of a story teller than I'd have given you credit, Man of Gondor."  
  
Boromir shrugged, explaining, "I have a little brother." Then, in a whispered tone, "Be glad I didn't tell tales of the snow sloth."  
  
"Snow sloth?" Pippin asked hopefully.  
  
**  
  
"That's all well and good, but I've got some business to attend to on the outside," Gimli declared, breaking up Aragorn and Gandalf's debate when he stood up within the limited confines of their shelter, his head brushing the cloak stretched across its top.  
  
It wasn't until he headed for the slight opening where the snow wall met the boulder that the company understood how much snow had fallen. Gimli just gazed upward for several long moments before heaving a heavy sigh. He spent several minutes struggling up the snowy embankment. Once scaled, he ducked his head back into the shelter. "It's half way up the wall," he rumbled. "The snow drifts to the top ere the other side."  
  
Realizing the weight of snow that must be pressing on their walls, all frowned as they considered them. To their eyes, the focused scrutiny created the illusion of the walls slowly closing in on them.  
  
Legolas stood up, but remained hunched over to avoid taking down their roof. "I'll scout the area," he volunteered.  
  
None of the others argued with him, recognizing the elf's prowess at moving over the snow rather than through it. The elf easily scampered up the incline and was immediately away upon reaching the open expanse of snow.  
  
"We'll be buried alive," Pippin whispered, his eyes darting about their walls of packed snow.  
  
No one answered him, although Gandalf shifted his long frame where he sat, looking very pensive.  
  
After several minutes, Legolas reappeared. "Dawn is breaking, and with it the storm I think."  
  
Everyone drew a collective sigh of relief.  
  
"But that is not the end to the tale," he was quick to add. "The snow may be too high to forge, and the path is completely covered."  
  
**  
  
End of Part 1 


	2. Pirscha's Realm

Warm Thoughts, Chapter 2: Pirscha's Realm  
  
By Bethlauria  
  
**  
  
Author's note: There are occasional snippets of dialogue directly from the book in both this chapter and the first - very small snippets. I envision this story starting as a different point of view on the Fellowship's journey - at least up until the point the story diverges into an alternate reality.  
  
I want to thank those people who took the time to give me a review. I'm in the process of changing my e-mail address, but I will respond individually when I can. In the meantime, I just want you to know how much I appreciate it. Reviews are the thing that makes posting worthwhile. Without them, there's no way to know you're reaching anyone, and your story might as well stay on your laptop!  
  
If you take the time to continue on with the story, I hope you'll take the time to let me if you liked it and/or how it can be improved. Thanks!  
  
**  
  
At the news that their path was completely covered by snow and ice, Aragorn turned to look at Boromir and Gandalf in turn. They couldn't stay where they were, that much was certain.  
  
"Well, where heads are at a loss, bodies must serve," Boromir sighed, his tone resigned as he rose to his knees - the low roof of the shelter making it impossible for him to stand. "The strongest of us must seek a way - force a path if we must."  
  
Amused by the man's immodest description, Legolas asked, "And if the path you force goes straight off a cliff?"  
  
Boromir turned to eye the elf. "I don't plan on acting as a toboggan, I assure you," he said dryly, but added with a small smile, "unless it proves a short cut." Turning to dislodge his sword from their makeshift roof, he said, "My sword can act as my staff."  
  
Aragorn helped him to dislodge his shield as well, pulling and yanking it until the frozen snow released it. As he held it out to the man of Gondor, he asked, "And would this be your sled - assuming it meant for a quicker journey?"  
  
After being teased by the elf, Boromir looked at his future king dubiously, not sure in what manner he meant the comment. With crumpled brow, he finally considered the shield himself, realizing it really could serve as a sled for hobbit or dwarf. "Perhaps," he finally answered.  
  
Aragorn smiled at the earnest man. "Then let us force a path thither, you and I!" he determined, giving Boromir a hardy clap to the back as he rose to his full height and dislodged that bit of Legolas' cloak that still clung to the snow walls.  
  
Boromir brow jumped at the man's enthusiasm, but he rose as well, turning to the small opening of the makeshift shelter.  
  
Unfortunately, the men's effort to escape their shelter crumbled a good part of the snow wall and the rest of the roof. The shelter now resembled a snowy pit, making it easy for Gandalf to mark the men's progress simply by standing to his full height from within it. Gimli and the hobbits, however, were left to jump and hop to get a peak.  
  
After one slightly undignified hop, Gimli snorted and turned to follow the hopelessly optimistic men. "Men have not the only bodies that can serve," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"No, but you'd be better suited to burrow a hole under the snow. The drifts are easily over your head at points," Legolas called, still standing on the snowdrift above the small company.  
  
Gimli turned to glower at the elf and his comment. "I may not be able to forge the path, but I can reinforce it. And what of you, elf? Is there no use you can make of yourself?"  
  
Legolas smirked back, walking effortlessly on what was left of the snow wall. "I need not the strong men's path," he said. "But I can help direct their efforts." With that and a nod he was gone, presumably flying over the slopes.  
  
"Where's he off to?" could be plainly heard from the men burrowing not 10 feet away.  
  
**  
  
"The elf has strayed away again," Boromir sighed, turning back to Aragorn and Gimli, who were working at staggered measures behind him to widen the way.  
  
"He grows bored with our slow progress," Aragorn grunted as he labored to force an arm's breadth of snow away from their path. Once accomplished, he turned to Boromir and dusted off his snow-encrusted gloves and gauntlets. "Would that we could glide across the snow's surface like he."  
  
Gimli just snorted at the absurd notion that he do anything like an elf, but he used the momentary pause provided by the men's conversation to wipe his brow and rest against the snow wall beside him.  
  
Boromir scanned the landscape surrounding them. They'd burrowed back to the channel that cut through the mountain, but none of the three could say in what direction the path might weave as it made its way downward. "Thus far, we've hugged the stone cliff northward. While the landscape widens hereafter, it seems the prudent course to continue," he argued.  
  
Aragorn shrugged. "If you're wrong, we'll be wasting our strength." Somewhat apologetically, he said, "I think we need wait on our errant guide."  
  
"Arrogant guide," Boromir muttered as he leaned back heavily against a granite boulder. Although he could not fault Aragorn's logic, he was reluctant to let exhaustion gain a stronghold by stopping.  
  
He no sooner relaxed when the boulder beneath him started to slide backward. His eyes went wide as he fought for footing, but the boulder's movement forced his weight back away from the path. The boulder gained momentum, rolling down a pitched shelf that plunged downward beneath the rock wall, the opening hitherto masked by snow. As the boulder rolled away, no longer supporting the big man's weight, Boromir landed hard on his backside; but the incline would not let his momentum stop there. Instead, he continued to roll backward until his back and shoulders took all his weight and he slid down the incline himself among chunks of ice and snow. The last they saw of him, he maneuvered his spin so that his feet were before him, tobogganing down the incline with no way to stop until he hit bottom.  
  
Both Gimli and Aragorn tried to stop his fall, but neither reached him in time. In the aftermath of Boromir's long shout into the bowels of Caradhras, they were left in silence, elf and man both on their hands and knees as they looked into the void.  
  
Aragorn looked carefully above them, scanning the set of snow that might come down on their heads for what he was about to do. He grimaced up at the sheer wall, but he was not able to tell if some hidden accumulation lay precariously at its top. Making a decision, he finally shouted into the hole. "Boromir!"  
  
He and Gimli listened intently, but heard nothing returned.  
  
"Man of Gondor!" Gimli shouted. "You were warned about this type of amusement."  
  
Nothing.  
  
But then after a moment, they heard an "ugh" echoed from below, allowing them to imagine a sore and abused Lord regaining his footing.  
  
"It's a cavern," he yelled to them. "It's wide and seems well traveled."  
  
"Well traveled!" Gimli exclaimed. Frowning to himself, he muttered, "But by what?"  
  
"Do you see any way back up?" Aragorn asked.  
  
They didn't hear any answer right away; Boromir was apparently exploring his surroundings. "No. Only down, but it would seem to lead off the mountain."  
  
Aragorn looked to Gimli at the news. "We may have no choice but to follow him. Our strong man was the plow."  
  
Gimli's mouth screwed up at their predicament. "As much as it pains me to say this, the elf could give us much guidance. He could scout an exit from below." At that, he turned back to get Boromir's shield, which he had been using as a large snow scoop in their digging. "But I'll leave you to seek his council. For myself, I'll choose the path I can forge alone."  
  
His decision made, he sat down cross-legged in the middle of the shield. Clearing his throat he asked, "Could you give me a shove?"  
  
Aragorn frowned at the dwarf, surprised at his plan. "If our forged path is the better course, I'll need your strength," he reminded him.  
  
While Gimli did not wish to add to the man's labors, he was determined to follow Boromir. "The hobbits have strength untested. Their homes are burrows after all." When Aragorn didn't seem convinced, he said, "I'll not leave our friend to travel alone. I am better suited to the rocky caverns than he - strong man or no."  
  
Aragorn swallowed hard as he considered Gimli's argument. Then he nodded once and moved behind him to place a hand at his back and on the edge of the makeshift sled. "Steer well, my friend." And then louder to Boromir, he yelled, "Look out below. The dwarf travels to join you."  
  
**  
  
"What is this place?" Gimli's deep voice boomed, echoing off the curved walls of smooth ice.  
  
"If the little ones were here, I might say that this was part of Pirscha's realm," Boromir said as his eyes scanned the smooth walls on either side.  
  
Gimli stopped mid-stride to look up at the man. "And since they're not?"  
  
Boromir stopped in turn to consider the dwarf. After a moment, his eyes moved to dart about the ice tunnel as if checking for spies. When his gaze returned to the dwarf, he said in a hushed voice, "I'd speculate much the same, but I'd warn of that part of Pirscha's legend that cast him as an evil plotter to rival Sauron."  
  
Gimli rolled his eyes at the inevitable description. "Of course he was," he snorted. "And what was this evil wizard's power?"  
  
The big man leaned down closer to Gimli, his voice even more hushed as he said, "It was said he could freeze men in their tracks, much like the fabled goddess of Frabeaur with stone."  
  
His tale told, he waited on some sign of the dwarf's astonishment, but the only reaction from the dwarf came when he raised his extensive brow.  
  
After a moment, Gimli turned back to the path. "Lovely."  
  
When Boromir fell into step beside to him, he muttered under his breath, "And this was the path preferred to Moria."  
  
The round sparkling tunnel gave way to a huge sparkling chamber with large icicles hanging from the ceiling like might be found made of limestone in the lower realms. Light bounced about in reflection throughout the large space, but no clear window to the outside could be seen.  
  
"You were saying.about Moria," Boromir said as he gaze slid slowly across the vast space.  
  
Gimli's mouth just screwed up in disgust, sure now that their detour would prove its own adventure. Sighing, he asked, "What do you say, Man of Gondor? Explore it now, or turn back and report?"  
  
Boromir continued to scan the wide expanse, awed by its size and potential paths, "Report back. Perhaps Legolas had some news on which we can place our hopes."  
  
The two, man and dwarf, took one last look at the glittering hall before turning back along the path that brought them. As the sound of their footfalls diminished, the sheen of ice coating the wall by where'd they been standing shimmered and ran. For but a second, an outline of a face could be seen. The translucent shape melted to slide down the wall into a puddle, which rolled and glided along the passageway into the cavern.  
  
**  
  
"I won't leave Bill," Sam said firmly, crossing his arms to punctuate the point.  
  
Frodo turned to his faithful servant, imploring him to understand. "None of us wants to leave him, Sam, but we may have no choice."  
  
"We can forge a path like Mr. Boromir," Sam argued, taking a step closer to Frodo in his earnestness. "He gave us a good head start."  
  
Frodo let out a deep sigh. If it came to sacrificing the animal or themselves, the choice seemed clear; but Sam either couldn't or wouldn't be convinced. Turning to Aragorn, Frodo asked tiredly, "Do you think we could carry on with out him?"  
  
Aragorn was sorting provisions in Bill's pack, but stopped and turned back to the hobbits at the question. He considered the question carefully before responding. "I have strength in me yet," he acknowledged, but his answer lacked the confident bravado of his predecessor. Putting a hand on Sam's shoulder, he leaned down slightly to better gain both hobbits' eye, saying solemnly, "But the answer depends upon what Legolas finds of the landscape below."  
  
Both hobbits nodded, accepting the need for more information before making a decision, but Sam continued to cast about a wary eye at his comrades as they waited for the elf's return.  
  
When a lithe form finally came to stand on the snowy cliff above them -- to his comrades' taste, a good deal too amused by his own abilities - the hobbits gathered around him eagerly. Aragorn moved silently up behind them, awaiting the report.  
  
"The snow stops like a curtain parting just beyond the line of trees."  
  
Aragorn frowned up at the elf. "It stops, not fades?"  
  
"As if a hand directed a shaker of salt."  
  
Aragorn turned from the news, the frown etched deeper on his features. While the news meant they had a path to follow, it also bespoke of a power beyond that of nature.  
  
"Saruman grows strong," Gandalf whispered as he moved to stand next to him, his voice for Aragorn alone.  
  
"And so is this path laid out for us by design?" Aragorn asked back.  
  
"It is possible," Gandalf admitted, his extensive brow bunching as he considered this new threat. "But our options are few. I know you think we'd change his plot if we go by way of the mountain's hidden rooms; but in truth, they may not lead where we wish to go. We could find ourselves back in Rivendell, or worse yet, forever trapped."  
  
Hearing the wizard's concern, Aragorn turned abruptly back to Legolas. His tone urgent with worry, he asked, "Did you see any exit for Gimli and Boromir?"  
  
"Aye," Legolas answered, hopping down beside them. "A river, clogged with thick ice flows through the upper reaches of Caradhras."  
  
**  
  
End of Chapter 2 


	3. Snow sloth

Warm Thoughts Chapter 3: Snow Sloth By: Bethlauria  
  
**  
  
Author's note: Enjoy!  
  
**  
  
Aragorn grew impatient with their whispered shouts. He couldn't be sure, as he cupped his hands to direct his words, that Boromir and Gimli heard his entire message, but he didn't like the look of the snow that seemed poised above his head.  
  
He turned back to what remained of the company, his muscles flinching in an aborted shrug. It was time to make haste. The sun's light was already failing, and from the looks of it, more snow was on the way. With a deep sigh, he turned to their aborted path and slowly trudged forward through the waist high snow, using his arms to throw snow to the sides so that his fellows might follow.  
  
Legolas ran ahead over the snow, unencumbered, but it took Gandalf a few moments to tear his gaze away from the long slide that seemed to curl down into the mountain. With a sigh, he turned to follow Aragorn, his staff bearing a good deal of his weight as he struggled through ice and snow.  
  
The hobbits stood the longest, until Merry finally clapped Pippin on the back. "Come on. Pip. The sooner we begin, the sooner we'll meet up with them at the riverbank."  
  
Pippin nodded, but remained staring down into the hole until Sam and Frodo led Bill away to follow Aragorn. Only then did he join Merry to bring up the rear.  
  
After the company gained perhaps 100 feet, the first flakes fell.  
  
**  
  
Boromir absently gave up his hand to aid Gimli in his descent, but he continued to look about the spectacle of the cavern in awe. Startled by the hard thump next to him, he frowned down at Gimli, understanding that the dwarf spurned his offer of assistance.  
  
"Does this spectacle stem from magic or madness?" Gimli asked.  
  
Boromir turned once more to scan the broad expanse of sparkling crystal. "Of that, I'm sure we'll see. My concern is whether we'll see ourselves out of it again."  
  
When Gimli gave him an exasperated glare, Boromir shrugged, "I'm not one for false hope."  
  
When Boromir struck off again, following a channel in between crystal and ice, Gimli muttered under his breath, "Or any other kind."  
  
As they wound their way southeast, they found little to give them confidence, for the wall that marked the cavern's boundary remained steadfast and unbroken.  
  
The dripping echo of many, melting icicles further spoiled Gimli's mood. The noise wore on his nerves until he was doing little more than growling and snorting at the man from Gondor, who insisted on leading, yet stopped without warning every few feet to choose his next footing.  
  
When Gimli ran into his backside for the fourth time, he roared, "That's it." Brushing asudden past the man, he said, "If you ask my opinion, which I note you haven't, we should seek the source of the running water."  
  
"Running?" Boromir snorted in disdain. "I hear nothing beyond a maddening trickle."  
  
"Hardly surprising," Gimli observed. "Strong man though you be, your prowess at tracking is hardly commensurate to that of a dwarf's. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox," Gimli pompously declared as he turned to lead the way. "I will guide us to the spring, and it will in turn guide us out of Pirscha's realm."  
  
Unfortunately, the resounding echoes gave Gimli little clue to the spring's location. Instead, he followed the cast of wavering light on the cavern's ceiling, hoping it to be a watery reflection. Much to the dwarf's annoyance, as he moved away east, Boromir strayed away south; but it was Gimli that happened upon the icy riverbank first and hailed the man to his side.  
  
Together, they watched the spring's water meander away between large crystals of ice and skirt and jump down icy steps. The jumbled flow meandered here and there, but eventually led away South. From what they could see off it, it seemed to lead to a shadowy area in the Cavern's far recesses.  
  
The man and dwarf looked at each other. In truth, they had little choice but to follow, for forging the ice-cold stream would certainly finish them off.  
  
"I hope the going is more certain for our friends," Boromir declared, knowing that neither path held promise of escape.  
  
**  
  
The blizzard effectively blinded what was left of the fellows as they once again tried to dig themselves out a shelter.  
  
"Aragorn!" Merry shouted.  
  
Aragorn turned to find Merry desperately trying to rouse Pippin, who'd fallen asleep in his arms. Aragorn's gaze immediately slid to Gandalf, seeking his guidance; but the wizard offered none.  
  
When Aragorn took in Pippin's blue lips and pale complexion, he sought his own council, lifting the hobbit in his arms to travel back along the path he himself had forged.  
  
"This path might be hazardous, but at least its known to bring us off the mountain," Legolas called after him, shouting to be heard over the ice- laced wind.  
  
"It'll mean naught if the hobbits freeze along the way," Aragorn spat over his shoulder.  
  
"And what of Bill?"  
  
Aragorn turned back to look at the animal at the question, finding it standing solidly within the swirling snow. "I don't wish to sacrifice him," he shouted, turning to Legolas. "But we're fighting for our own survival."  
  
As Legolas stood above the snow, unmoved by wind or sleet, Aragorn realized that mayhap the elf could see the animal through until the rest of the fellows could meet up down the mountain's slope.  
  
"Do you think you could get him off the mountain?"  
  
Legolas paused before answering. "I can try," he said sincerely, his somber and less-than-certain tone highlighting how dire the situation. "If you really choose to follow the strong man, you should bring provisions. You don't know how long your path will be amid the icy tunnels."  
  
Aragorn nodded. "Merry, follow me to the mountain's door. I'll see you and Pippin safely to the bottom of its slanted hall; then I will return to help Frodo and Sam with supplies."  
  
**  
  
Both Gimli and Boromir were chilled to the bone by the time they reached the far wall of the large cavern; but they welcomed the sight of a breach in its smooth surface; a large crack heralded the stream's escape. With the fading of the sun's light, came the fading of its reflection within the cavern, so they decided to make camp and build a fire before the exodus, using what was left of Gimli's wood for both warmth and light.  
  
Gimli took the first watch. As he sat up against the tunnel wall, the cavern slowly faded from view beyond the halo of light cast by the fire.  
  
After his head nodded for the second time, he abruptly shifted himself upward and looked about their small camp for something to distract him away from sleep. He finally decided to break into his valuable stash of pipeweed, which was hidden several layers down in his pack.  
  
He took great pleasure in the careful and precise process of stuffing the pipe and getting it a light, and he was enjoying his first stoke, when Boromir suddenly groaned and kicked out in his sleep.  
  
Gimli frowned at the struggling man. He was unsure whether he should wake him from the nightmare, having heard tales of unfavorable ends to such a course.  
  
As the man's struggles grew more violent, Gimli threw his pipe aside to crawl to the man's side. Boromir's eyes were open and were looking at Gimli in panic as his hands clawed at his face. Gimli wasn't sure what he was seeing at first; Boromir's face seemed to shine in the wavering light the fire cast, and his expression seemed frozen as if in a mask. Gimli suddenly realized it *was* frozen, and the ice encasing it prevented the man from taking a breath.  
  
Gimli lunged at the ice mask, trying to work his fingernails under its edge in hopes of prying it off. As the man's struggles weakened, Gimli continued to pull at the ice, but his eyes desperately darted about their campsite, looking for some tool to help him in his task. His gaze landed on the fire at his side, and he grabbed for an ember hastily, burning his hand. He swore under his breath and dropped it. When he reached for it again, he grabbed its unscorched end and was finally able to lay it upon the ice on Boromir's face.  
  
The man's eyes widened in horror as he watched the burning flame approach. Gimli turned away with a grimace, not wanting to torture the man, but certain this was the best course. He heard rather than saw the fire's effect. The ice squeaked and then popped as ice does when suddenly immersed in water. With a long screech, splintered cracks tore along the mask's surface.  
  
Gimli left the burning wood on the mask a moment longer to make sure he'd undermined its strength. When the water melting on its top started to spurt and bubble, he pulled the burning ember away and threw it back on the fire. When he turned back, his eyes widened in amazement as he saw the ice mask soften in form to slide away, no longer cast in the shape of Boromir's face, but flexible and formless as it rode off of it. Once it fell away, the man violently rolled to his side and wheezed in great mouthfuls of air, only to cough the air out again.  
  
Gimli watched in stunned amazement as the thick film dissolved into a puddle on the cavern's floor. As he watched, it moved slowly away.  
  
Shaking himself out of it, he reached out to the man, pounding him on the back to help him regain his breath. Once revived, the man hastily crawled away from the place where the mask first dripped down to the ground. His head swiveled on his neck as he looked frantically about him, finally turning to look at Gimli in utter astonishment at the form of this new enemy.  
  
Gimli stood up from his position and moved closer to the errant puddle. As he got closer to it, the puddle abandoned its subtle meandering to roll with more speed and with greater force. Gimli started to give chase, but stopped once he decided he had no means of capturing it.  
  
He turned back to the man. "I can track this thing that attacked you, but I cannot capture it. Its evil lies in stealth and our ignorance. Now that it's made itself known, we can guard against it."  
  
Boromir just nodded as he struggled to catch his breath. After a moment he said, "But what other enemies might we encounter on this path?"  
  
"What other indeed?" Gimli whispered, scanning the cavern as he thought of Moria. The legends surrounding the dwarf fortress fueled his imagination, causing him to envision a population for this elevation. They'd be terrifying creatures. In his mind's eye, the shadows of Moria were cast instead out of ice and light, reflecting the theme of the mountain's higher reaches. "The sooner we find our way, the better. Let us hope Pirscha's minions are no bigger or faster than the ice we experienced.  
  
"It was deadly enough, I assure you," Boromir said as he rose to his feet. "I'll not be sleeping anytime soon."  
  
"Nor I. Mayhap we should be on our way. The fire we'd used for warmth can light our path."  
  
**  
  
If Boromir and Gimli remained in the cavern, they might have seen the glow of Gandalf's staff as the ice took up its reflection, magnifying and multiplying the light into a sparkly show.  
  
"It is beautiful," Frodo acknowledged.  
  
Sam shrugged. "I prefer Gandalf's fireworks as lights go," he mumbled, looking at the fields of crystal hills with suspicion.  
  
"Apples and oranges, Sam. The appreciation of one doesn't detract from the other," Frodo said patiently as he turned to him.  
  
The corner of Sam's mouthed curved up in disgust. "The lights in this place are poor forgeries," he determined. "They just mimic the light set off from Gandalf's staff."  
  
"I'm just happy there's light," Pippin volunteered from behind them. Moving to stand at their side, he said, "Sparkly or no, it'll be easier to see any big drop offs."  
  
Merry was walking past Pippin when he made the comment, and nudged the hobbit on principle. Continuing after Gandalf, he stopped after a few steps to look back at Sam. "It does make our path easier," he reasoned.  
  
Sam's eyes dropped a little in embarrassment. He didn't wish to be forever comforted in his complaints. "The better to get on with it I suppose," he gave them.  
  
Aragorn laid a heavy hand on Sam's shoulder, understanding the hobbit's glum mood as he worried over Bill. "Then let us make our way."  
  
**  
  
As Boromir and Gimli made their way down the path bordering the natural spring, Boromir found himself glancing nervously about him. Something about these paths gave him a sense of foreboding. The way all the rooms magnified outside light spoke of some great being's architectural design - but this was a mountain. By Valor, the likes of which that could fashion a mountain after its own tastes.  
  
The path grew brighter as dawn's light was drawn into the space from above. After the better part of an hour, the path widened and an archway could be seen at its end. Beyond the arch, the path dipped steeply downward in a narrow and short passage, but the dwarf and man had little choice but to follow.  
  
Ducking within the portal, Boromir was forced to crouch through the narrow passageway, but the dwarf was able to walk upright behind him.  
  
When they reached the other side, it was with a start. Boromir's hand relaxed off his sword's hilt, however, when he realized that the army of men and dwarves that greeted them was but a trick of the ice.  
  
He sighed heavily as he tried to make sense of the path before him, realizing that the multiple reflections were caused by the ice walls which curved one onto the other. The room with its many mirrored walls was like a sinister maze, its design unfathomable.  
  
"What manner of game is this?" Gimli grumbled. "This is a device of your wizard, I'd wager; but there's one way to forge a path where we wouldn't be at Pirscha's mercy," he said, his rumbled tone escalating as he made to use his axe on the illusionary enemies.  
  
Boromir stayed him with a touch of his hand as he squinted at one of the walls, seeing movement where he knew there should be none.  
  
He moved toward the ice wall only to find a reflection of himself in action, the movements not at all mirroring his slack-jawed gaze. Although strangely flat and insubstantial, his double's face twisted in rage as he stumbled desperately after a small figure. As Boromir watched, he couldn't tell which halfling his crazed counterpart hunted, but his jaw tightened as a suspicion formed.  
  
Giving chase, his double tripped and landed hard on a leaf-strewn hill. When he drew his head up, leaves and dirt tangled in his hair, his manner and mood completely changed. Now his expression was one of tortured despair, which finally mirrored the expression worn by the flesh and blood man watching the action play out.  
  
From his elbow, Gimli spoke, "That has not come to pass. That is black magic at work, making you doubt yourself. I know you to be a man of honor, and you've given your word to protect the hobbit."  
  
"Aye, I have," Boromir answered, but he continued to stare into the eyes of his now-mirrored reflection.  
  
After a moment, he stood up tall and turned away from the image, but he didn't give the icy walls more means to divert him. Instead, he looked to the ground, maneuvering through the icy maze free of the distortions created through light and reflection. He chugged along the path, feeling weighed down by the image he'd just seen as it repeated through his head. Was it possible he'd stray so far as to actually try to take the ring?  
  
When Gimli's swore from somewhere behind, he stopped. The dwarf was looking into an ice wall, trying to clear the frosty surface with his hand. He turned to look at Boromir in stunned amazement at the figures encased in the wall's reaches.  
  
Boromir moved back by Gimli's side to get a closer look. Within the ice, two men stood as if frozen in mid-stride, one shouting to the other.  
  
**  
  
THE END of Chapter 3 


	4. Cold Heart

WARM THOUGHTS: Cold Heart By: Bethlauria  
  
**  
  
It may be a while before the next chapter. I found a detailed map of Middle Earth only AFTER I wrote it. Let's just say my geography was a bit off. In the meantime, Enjoy! And thanks for the reviews. I really appreciate them. Hearing from people really gets me enthused, which means faster posting! Emerald-Eyed Elf deserves a special thank you. You're last review gave me the poke I needed to get back to the story.  
  
**  
  
"We can no longer doubt this is Pirscha's magic at work," Boromir said as he stared at the visage, his breath fogging the air before him.  
  
As the man and dwarf stood gazing into the block of ice, a puddle on the slushy path rolled toward them, unnoticed. It slithered around their boots to pool beneath their feet.  
  
Boromir moved the torch closer to the ice wall in hopes of gaining more detail of the two men trapped within, but the ice nearest the flame sputtered and spit at the heat. He frowned and pulled the torch back, reminded of his rude awakening a few hours before.  
  
"They are beyond our help," he determined. "We should be on our way lest we fall prey to the same evil."  
  
But as he moved away from the wall, his foot slipped on the ice patch now beneath it, and all his limbs flailed about as he tried and failed to find balance. As his feet slid out from under him, Gimli reached out to stop the fall, but Boromir's momentum was too great and undermined the dwarf's balance as well.  
  
Boromir landed hard on the path, his shield catching on its edge to jar his shoulder as his elbow and ribs cracked against the hard ice.  
  
Gimli would have joined him to sprawl across the pathway, except that he fell toward the man from Gondor and managed to use Boromir's head as an anchor. Even with this point of purchase, his feet slipped about for a moment until he was able to stand unmoving. When he was able to relax his grip on the man's face, he pulled back slightly to find his own balance. Noticing Boromir's scowl, he hastily pushed off the man to grope instead the nearest wall.  
  
"No!" Boromir shouted, understanding too late the danger as he lunged himself at the dwarf. He tried to shove Gimli away from the wall, but between the obstacles of his sword and shield, he was unable to maneuver himself in time. He looked up to see the dwarf fall into the ice, its solidness giving way to the same formless substance that attacked him earlier. As Gimli sank into it, the clear, icy goo closed around him as if swallowing.  
  
"Gimli!" Boromir shouted as he scrambled over on all fours to the wall, only to find it ice once more. "Gimli!" he raged as he pounded the now hard surface with his fists.  
  
When force of will changed not, he remembered the torch lying behind him. He turned to find its flame struggling where it fell with him to the cold ground. He grabbed it, letting it flare to life again before striking it at the ice wall now displaying Gimli. The surface bubbled and screeched where the flame worked it. Rather than melt, however, it seemed to flow away from the heat, creating a valley in the wall's surface. As he pushed the torch deeper, the ice surrounding the torch suddenly turned to water and would have drenched the flame if not for Boromir's quick reflexes.  
  
He jumped away from the wall and its dripping water, and in frustration, slapped the wall's surface with his palm. This time, however, he took note of its solid form. He skimmed his hand across its cool surface, pushing in at random to find no weakness.  
  
An idea taking form, he clutched the torch tightly and threw his bulk against the wall with all his might. It toppled well, crashing into a wall beyond it with a mighty crack. Its weight in turn caused the second wall to fall, and on it went. The crashing sounds seemed to be that of the mountain falling in on itself, but when the motion stopped, and grave silence reigned, Boromir could see that he was no longer lost in a reflective maze. Instead, he could see clearly the expanse of the room, littered now with great chunks and piles of ice - the splintered remnants of the many ice walls.  
  
Boromir turned back to the ice wall that held Gimli. It was now laying more or less on its side, so he struck the torch at it again. This time, gravity insured that the ice could play no changes in form to extinguish the flame. As the bubbling and screeching grew in volume, the ice suddenly gave up its treasure, losing all form to drench Gimli and fall in a great gush to the floor and ice beneath it.  
  
Gimli lie shivering and blue, liked a beached fish on a shore. Boromir grabbed him up roughly, hauling him like a sack of potatoes over the shoulder not encumbered by shield. He then turned to scale the now ice- littered landscape toward the passageway at the far end of the room.  
  
".I-I-I..can make.my.own way," Gimli chattered from his shoulder, but Boromir paid him no heed, brandishing the torch before him at what he surmised were disguised enemies at his feet.  
  
He carried on this way for 20 minutes or more, scaling the landscape in all haste, but between the weight of the dwarf and the precarious mountains of ice, the going was slow and he was forced to rest often. Gimli kept muttering that he could make his own way, but it was clear that his arms and legs were still numb, and he seemed quite stunned mentally.  
  
"Boromir!"  
  
Frodo's shout echoed through the chamber, causing Boromir to startle and turn, almost losing his footing and the dwarf in the process.  
  
Aragorn and Frodo stood just inside the stunted entryway he and Gimli had traveled through not an hour earlier. They were winded as their eyes took in their fellows, for they apparently sped to the rescue upon hearing the commotion caused by the crashing and splintering ice walls. The two were suddenly nudged forward when the rest of the hobbits barreled down the hallway into them.  
  
"Stay back!" Boromir warned to them all, seeing that their surge forward put them dangerously close to the rubble. "The ice is an enemy bent on digesting us all!"  
  
Pippin responded immediately to Boromir's barked order, groping backward as he considered the ice about him. He jumped in surprise when he bumped into Merry, but he relaxed when he turned to see nothing more threatening than his cousin. "Digesting," he repeated incredulously as he tried to comprehend the word as a warning.  
  
Gandalf was almost forced down to hands and knees to make in through the small passageway, but he made it into the chamber in time to hear Boromir's warning.  
  
While Aragorn and the hobbits frowned, first at Boromir and then the chunks of ice before them, Gandalf quickly understood the danger. He thrust out his staff and the crystal at its top began to glow fiercely and hot. He thrust it toward the nearest chunk of ice, causing the hobbits to gasp in awe when it scurried away. He thrust it toward another chunk, but this one lay dormant, apparently nothing more than frozen water.  
  
Seeing that at least one member of the company understood the danger, Boromir shouted, "Are you able to fashion torches?"  
  
"We have Gandalf's staff and I have but two logs remaining," Aragorn called back.  
  
"It is worth expending the fuel. Use the logs now as both light and weapon. The ice would swallow you whole otherwise."  
  
At the description, Merry and Pippin looked to each other until their stare was broken by Pippin's loud gulp, whereupon both hobbits immediately turned to help Aragorn.  
  
Several minutes later found the company scaling the icy terrain with torches in hand, looking at their footholds wearily and brandishing the torches to strike if given any indication of evil.  
  
Boromir carried on as well. He was breathless and tense when he finally found the smooth ground at the far end of the chamber where a carved archway marked the exit. He unceremoniously dropped the dwarf and turned back to mark the progress of their fellows, who were now mid-way through the room.  
  
"How is it that you're not riding Caradhras' lower skirts?"  
  
Aragorn looked up from his footing at Boromir's question. "Another storm came upon us," he replied. "Legolas is making Bills' way through it, but the climate was too harsh for the hob."  
  
He was interrupted by the sound of rushing water and the ground literally giving up beneath his feet. Not all the icy crags were creatures in disguise, but enough of them melted instantaneously into watery form that man, hobbit, and wizard were left in heaps on the now dry ground.  
  
Boromir saw the wall of water heading toward him, a great face sculpted in its wave. He grabbed Gimli and tossed him away from its force. The dwarf landed on a great breaker of ice to the side just as Boromir was struck headlong by the watery form and carried through the portal out of the chamber. He was pummeled with great force against the tunnel wall outside, effectively knocking him senseless. Then the water rushed onward and away, uphill against all laws of nature to flow along the corridor out of sight.  
  
Frodo recovered first. With much of the icy landscape gone, he was able to run easily across the length of the room and out into the passageway, where he found Boromir crumpled on the tunnel floor.  
  
"Boromir?" he shouted as he grabbed the man's tunic, but Boromir's head just nodded listlessly on his chest.  
  
Pippin helped Gandalf to his feet, while Merry and Sam ventured into the passageway after Frodo. "Boromir?" Merry whispered when he saw the man's broken position.  
  
The whispered plea seemed to rouse the man, who raised his hand slightly, clawing at the air as his head rolled against the wall toward the hobbit. Frodo sighed in relief and knelt next to the man, who was gulping great mouthfuls of air as he fought for breath. With Frodo's help he was able to sit upright.  
  
"Gimli?" he whispered.  
  
Aragorn had helped the dwarf down from the ledge upon which he'd been tossed and now walked with him through the archway.  
  
"Here and accounted for," Gimli barked as they came out into the passageway, "but your manhandling will not be repeated."  
  
"No," Boromir snorted. "Let's hope we encounter no more rogue waves in the future."  
  
A roar echoed its way down the corridor at that moment, punctuating his remark. He looked up at the company, his eyes darting back and forth between his fellows, for the roar was nothing like he'd ever heard before from animal or beast. It was more like the roar of a waterfall.  
  
"Fly you fools!" Gandalf directed, pointing the company down the hallway away from the sound.  
  
Boromir was helped to his feet by the hobbits and then all were underway, running wildly along the path bordering the deceptively mild spring.  
  
A moan of sheer rage seemed to be right at their very heels, pushing them ever onward. A light was clear at the end of their tunnel, and they burst forth out into sunshine, midway down Caradhras. Aragorn pushed Boromir and Frodo to one side of the great breach, diving for cover with the rest of the hobbits to the other. A geyser of water followed them straight out of the cave like a shot from a cannon. It roared for several seconds and then all was quiet as its force was spent. After a moment more, the fellows watched in awe as drops of run off rolled their way back up the mountain to collect together at the base of the cave and run in rivulets back into Caradhras' recesses.  
  
End of Part 4 


	5. Cold Heart 2

The company had little choice in their path off Caradhras as the rocky steps of Dimrill Stair dictated a steep, southern course along its falls.  
  
The hunt for proper footing on the slick, mist-covered rock made the going precarious and slow, especially for Sam, who'd turned his ankle in his mad dash out of Pirscha's cave. While Frodo stayed with him as he made his way, their slow pace caused the two to fall back within the company until they brought up its rear.  
  
As Frodo waited for Sam to scale a particularly large step, he looked about him in the sunny day, wondering at the fact he still felt chilled. He shivered, trying to shake off the feeling, absentmindedly taking up the ring from the chain about his neck to rub it between his fingers.  
  
Boromir was the next fellow in line before them and when he realized Frodo and Sam had fallen behind, he stopped to wait for them, rolling his left shoulder in a stretch and readjusting his shield where it rested unaccustomedly on his right.  
  
Noticing the man's wince, Frodo let the ring land with a thud back on his chest. "The shoulder pains you?"  
  
Boromir's head snapped up to return the hobbit's gaze. With a faltering smile, he said, "Not to speak of, little one. As a seasoned solider, I've had much worse," he confided with a shrug, but the action aggravated the shoulder anew, and his smile threatened to twitch into a grimace as he tried to twist his neck and shoulder about to relieve the spasm.  
  
Frodo rolled his eyes, offering, "Sam has some salve that might help."  
  
He turned back toward Sam, only to find that the hobbit had successfully lowered himself down the last step and stood next to him. Frodo forcefully turned him about to get at the pack on his back. "You've kept the salve in this pack, haven't you, Sam?"  
  
"No," Boromir said, staying the hobbit with a splayed hand. Awkwardly lowering it again, he said more gently, "Better to save it for our future adventures," he tried by way of explanation.  
  
He looked away for a moment and swallowed hard before turning back, his eyes darting to Frodo's, he said sincerely, "But I thank you for the offer."  
  
Frodo's hands were still on the pack's straps as he stared back at the man in confusion, but the awkward moment was interrupted by shouts of glad tidings from below. Apparently, the elf and pony had intercepted their fellows.  
  
"Bill!" Sam exclaimed, turning from his master to skip down the steps as best he was able so he might catch up to the rest of the company and his beloved pony.  
  
When the excited hobbit hobbled past, Boromir snorted in amusement and turned to Frodo with a Smile, only to have it fade when he found Frodo still staring at him with a worried frown.  
  
After a long moment, Boromir broke their stare and turned back to the path, saying with forced nonchalance, "Best get underway."  
  
**  
  
"I give no credence to that vision, and neither should you."  
  
"It would seem to show the future," Boromir argued.  
  
"It would seem to, but each man and beast in middle earth has the freedom of choice. Now you know the danger and can guard against it," the dwarf determined as he dug in his pack for pipe and weed, clearly expecting his judgment to end the discussion.  
  
"But I can see too clearly the path of thought that would lead me to that road," Boromir admitted, his voice shaky as he bowed his head. He sat on the ground on the outer circle of their camp, his arms wrapped around his bent knees.  
  
"You do not hold with the reasoning of the council then?" Gimli asked, looking up from his labors to fashion the man of Gondor with his dark gaze. "I thought you to be convinced of the quest's merit."  
  
"I understand the danger against which they guard," Boromir explained carefully. "They are afraid to leave a weapon worth pursuing to the dark lord; but I cannot help but think it folly to deliver it into his stronghold." When the dwarf did not reply, Boromir turned to catch the dwarf's eye. "I've faced his minions, losing a thousand men to the meeting," he added, his voice growing in conviction, if not a little frustration. "I do not think it possible to walk through his lands to Mount Doom. I'd sooner see the ring locked away or sent over the great waters; and if all else fails, take the chance and wield it. "  
  
Gimli frowned at the man as he stood up from his pack. Pipe weed forgotten, he turned away to pace about, his hands clasped behind his back in thought. When he turned back to the man, he said, "Aside from affection for the company you keep, then, you have no real hope in the quest. I do not think you truly understand the ring's power," he accused.  
  
"And you do?" Boromir asked.  
  
"No, but I'm beginning to think the ring cast that vision to you, rather than any magic of Pirscha. It's making you shy away from your affections for the halfling, creating distance and suspicion; the very thing the ring feeds upon."  
  
"You talk as though it is a living thing," Boromir said incredulously and a little contemptuously as he got to his feet and dusted off his backside.  
  
"And so it is, growing stronger by vanquishing hope and feeding on despair. Man of Gondor, take heart!" the dwarf rumbled, his voice booming with emotion as his speech stirred him. "For it may be in the fact of our journey that the true wound to our enemy is struck; neither the ring nor Sauron can imagine the fidelity of friendship and respect. It's a weapon Sauron can't fathom or recognize."  
  
Boromir looked down at the dwarf as he thoughtfully considered his remarks, but fear was heavy on his heart that his doubts would only grow.  
  
He felt like he was the only one who could see the truth of the ring, veiled though it was in legend and myth. In the end, it was a weapon that would be wielded, and wasn't it the wielder's measure that determined its capacity for good or evil?  
  
**  
  
As they trekked down the last of the stair, the fellows breath billowed in the air, the chill making it visible. When they cleared the last of the pine leading into the dale, Aragorn dropped his pack, signaling a break for rest. One by one, the company entered the clearing.  
  
As the hobbits flung themselves to the ground along with their gear, Gimli declared to the party at large, "Unseasonable this cold. If no one else will say it, I will. This Pirscha follows us with his magic."  
  
Aragorn turned to give the dwarf a short glare of warning, one side of his mouth puckering in annoyance.  
  
The dwarf blustered at the disapproval, but didn't back down.  
  
Letting his hands fall away from his hips, Aragorn ignored the dwarf, turning away instead to scout a path.  
  
"I've speculated the same," Boromir said to the dwarf as he walked up beside him to drop his own pack, but his voice was at a level meant for Gimli alone. He turned to look back up Caradhras as it towered above them, its shadow blocking out the sun. "But it is January. The month itself has been known to bring cold such as this all on its own."  
  
"Or so you always thought," Gimli said pointedly.  
  
Boromir snorted at the comment, torn from his contemplation to look back down to Gimli. "I admit, no winter will go by now that I won't consider his possible meddling," he replied.  
  
"The Sky looks threatening" Aragorn said on his return. "I want to make it to the golden wood of Lothlorien before nightfall so that we might have some shelter."  
  
Now it was his turn to look up at the clouds that seemed to gather about Caradhras and her sisters. The activity on the mountain had not let up since their escape. In fact, the snow line dropped noticeably during their descent, apparently staying just behind them.  
  
When Aragorn looked back to man and dwarf for a response, Boromir nodded and Gimli grunted, so he turned away from them to rouse the hobbits; but his gaze almost immediately doubled back to Boromir with a frown.  
  
Aragorn looked at him quizzically, realizing for the first time how pale the man and the tremor that ran through him in chill. While the climate was anything but hospitable, Boromir seemed to be affected by it the most. Yet on the pass, he'd been the most hardy - except for the elf.  
  
"The air is cold to be sure, but your chill seems to run deeper," Aragorn observed. "You look to be taken with illness as well as with cold.  
  
"It is just the cold," Boromir determined stubbornly. "Once we get off the mountain, we will all benefit by a fire," he said, turning away from Aragorn's scrutiny to look again at Caradhras, squinting at it like he might an enemy in disguise.  
  
**  
  
"Well isn't this a pain and a nuisance," Pippin declared, finding it beyond tolerable that a fire was ruled out by the Wizard even as they camped within a wood.  
  
"Our enemies number larger on this side of the Misty Mountains. We don't want to help them in their search by marking our location." Perhaps sensing an opportunity for instruction, he continued, "And there are also our hosts to think about - we don't wish to offend them."  
  
"Hosts?" Pippin asked, his brows in his hairline.  
  
Boromir walked up behind Pippin at the exchange and frowned at the word 'hosts' himself.  
  
"I'm sure you, at least, Boromir have heard strange tales of these woods," Gandalf started.  
  
"Aye, strange and deadly tales are all that's ever escaped from the woods of Lorien. It would seem you have knowledge of the enemies that haunt here?"  
  
Gandalf snorted. "Enemies? No, I do not count the beings that reside here among our enemies. You're a valiant man, but all is forever black and white to you. For any man that entered this wood and didn't return, there is likely a story of transgression."  
  
Boromir just frowned. "And would these men even know that they transgressed?"  
  
"They could guess if they gave it a thought, but therein is the crime you see."  
  
"No I don't see," Boromir sighed. "Nor do I have hope of illumination at the rate of your telling."  
  
Pippin laughed and looked up fondly at Boromir, before turning to the wizard again himself. Crossing his arms across his chest, he said, "Yes, Gandalf, get to the point."  
  
Gandalf pointedly frowned at both of them before resuming his tale. "There are beings older than any on middle earth that take up residence here," he said, his narrative voice deep and vibrant.  
  
Boromir seemed to grow a shade paler as he considered the wizard's words. "Yes, the witch," he surmised. "Gimli told me tales of her sorcery."  
  
"The Lady is no witch," Gandalf thundered. "She casts no spells, and spins no sorcery. No, she is in fact a high, elfin queen, and, though the elves in these parts have dwindled, this is indeed her realm. It would be impolite to make ourselves at home without her invitation. No, we should await a meeting with her representatives before so flagrantly abusing her hospitality. But it isn't the lady I was speaking of when I said hosts; we must also consider the trees.  
  
"The trees?" Pippin said in objection.  
  
"Yes, the trees, young took. This is their home as much as it is the lady's and fire is their natural enemy."  
  
"Why on Earth would the trees care if we built a fire?" Pippin argued.  
  
"Well how would you feel, fool of a took, if a visiting tree came to the shire with a pet warg for the keeping - an animal just as likely to gnaw on you than a bone?  
  
"Well, if that's not unnecessarily gruesome," Pippin determined, his whole face pinched at the idea. Then, as an argument dawned, he said enthusiastically, "But a tree doesn't feel pain."  
  
"Just because you don't hear their howl of pain doesn't mean they don't feel it," Legolas said unexpectedly from behind them. He'd apparently been leading Bill to a tree for tying when he overheard them.  
  
"And you do?" Boromir asked as he turned toward the elf.  
  
"He's a woodland elf," Gandalf chuckled. "He lives in harmony with the trees himself, and I dare say, his kind's even been known to sing to them."  
  
"Yes, I sing, and I am answered," Legolas said. "Trees are beyond wise. Some trees in our wood are old enough to remember the elves beginning as if yesterday morn," he said his eyes shining in wonder. But then a shadow seemed to pass over his face as he said, "I believe they will also witness our end - I only hope we will prove ourselves worth mourning."  
  
Boromir looked at him thoughtfully, but let him move on to tie up Bill with no further questions. When Boromir turned back to look toward Gandalf, he noticed Pippin looking up thoughtfully at the trees spreading their yellowed canopies above their heads.  
  
"Do you think they'd like Bilbo's 'Ode to a Potato?" Pippin asked.  
  
"Good heavens, no," Gandalf declared in a reproachful tone. Leaning down to the hobbit, he said, "And have a care for your fellows; they are quick to anger themselves at a hobbit's foolishness."  
  
Pippin's mouth fell open at the remark. As Gandalf walked off, Boromir put a hand on the young hobbit's shoulder. "Perhaps we can conjole the old wizard to let us serenade the trees campside. Not everyone here is a critic.  
  
"If we did it properly they may even like us enough to let us use a few cast off limbs for warmth," Pippin argued, nodding to a piece of dried wood at the base of the tree next to him.  
  
Boromir looked up at the trees, really noticing for the first time their magnificence.  
  
"What would he sing, I wonder?" Pippin asked as he looked after the wizard. "We all have our tastes after all," the hobbit sniffed.  
  
**  
  
Boromir gave up on the bedroll, gathering it up to wrap around him as he backed up to the tree next to him and drew his long limbs into a ball to conserve body heat. Remembering Gandalf's tale, his eyes darted up the bark at his back. A little self-consciously, he whispered, "I mean no disrespect.  
  
He was quite used to the sleepless nights, but the chill set his muscles to ache with their shivering. He looked around at their small camp, noticing Legolas taking his watch from a tree a few yards away. As on Caradhras, he seemed unaffected by the bone-crushing chill.  
  
Boromir's mouth screwed up in annoyance as he allowed his glance to fall away to those sleeping about him. He couldn't see the dwarf, but could hear his snores. Aragorn, who he could still make out to his left, seemed sound asleep as well. The hobbits were no longer discernable in the deep dark of the wood. They were just a pile to his right, but he had no doubt they were much warmer than he as they cuddled up together. He looked up at the hard tree that was his partner and pillow, wishing it was a good deal softer and warmer.  
  
He shivered again and drew his legs up closer, longing for a warm bath, or perhaps the warm body of a woman. In the field with his men, there was no shortage of camp whores, and he hadn't seen his share for some months now.  
  
As he leaned his head back against the tree, he banished those thoughts from his mind. As a soldier, he knew not to wallow in the longing for creature comforts.  
  
As he stared into the surrounding darkness, he realized he was lightly humming and stopped himself in surprise as he tried to place the tune. Recognition knocked into him; it was a lullaby his mother had sung to he and Faramir when they were just lads. As the memory came back to him, he smiled and hummed just a little more, not having stored much of the tune to memory.  
  
He sighed and closed his eyes, but they popped back open after a moment when the wind whistling through the trees seemed to whisper the same tune back to him.  
  
** 


	6. Cold Blade

Warm Thoughts: Cold Blade  
  
Author's Note: Thank you for the feedback. Requests to continue got me writing again. Thanks again!  
  
**  
  
"He won't allow me to attend to him," Aragorn said, eyeing the shivering man where he sat against a tree trunk.  
  
"Do you think he's ill?" Frodo asked.  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "I don't know whether it be illness or a curse that settles on his soul, and I won't know until his stubbornness is spent," he said with a sigh. He suddenly frowned and looked away, his eyes shifting from tree to tree as he listened intently.  
  
All Frodo could hear was bird song, but as he listened, one tune stood out.  
  
Aragorn unsheathed his sword and looked down at Frodo. "We have company," he said simply and then turned to rouse the others to action. "Boromir, to arms. Orcs will be upon us."  
  
Boromir's eyes popped open and he jumped to his feet, his soldier's training automatically taking over. "Do we know their number?"  
  
"A dozen or more from the south," Aragorn replied as he gave Gimli a firm pat on the shoulder, testing his readiness. The words no sooner left his mouth then the stomping of many armored feet could be heard from that direction.  
  
At first the company had to stand silent to be sure they heard it, but the menacing sound grew quickly in volume. The hobbits unsheathed their swords and moved closer together, forming a semi-circle in mutual protection.  
  
"Over here, by the big tree," Boromir directed. "Keep it at your back."  
  
He moved out in front of them, flanked on one side by Aragorn and the other by Gimli. Gandalf moved off to the side, but his thunderous expression left no doubt that he would prove a mighty adversary.  
  
A grunt and a thud sounded off to their left, not 50 yards away. While movement could be seen through the trees, their enemies remained mostly hidden as they approached. A high-pitched cry echoed to them from the same direction, leaving the company to hope the cry was in outrage as Legolas' arrow hit its mark. After a few moments more, the high shrieks that served as the Orcs' war cry drowned out all else, and three large orcs burst out of the wood, followed by what seemed an infinite number of smaller ones.  
  
The smell of rot that always clung to the creatures was harsh in the air. That smell, that moment when the fighting began and seemed to move in slow motion, was something that would be forever etched in Frodo's memory.  
  
He saw Boromir with shield and sword in hand make short work of one of the larger Orcs. He fought in bold thrusts, each breath emblazoning another effort, his concentration complete and his form masterful. Frodo wondered absently at the pain the movements must be causing the man's shoulder.  
  
Gimli fought using a bellowed rage, heaving his great axe to and fro as he rained obscenities down on his foes.  
  
Aragorn seemed the scrapper, for it was just as often that his sword's hilt crushed a scull than his blade made a cut. He hacked at an orc and then grabbed his cloak from his neck to drag across the orc's arm and thus catch up his weapon.  
  
Frodo watched the three fight and then turned as the smaller orcs approached he and Sam. The one closest advanced with a grotesque smile twisting its tortured features. Frodo turned to face it and consciously replanted himself in battle stance, squeezing the hilt of sting, which now glowed blue.  
  
He felt Pippin and Sam close in on either side, offering him their support and defense in the coming battle. As the orcs approached, half a dozen more poured out of the woods behind them. Frodo could sense Sam's hard swallow.  
  
"For the Shire!" Merry yelled, jumping forward from behind Pippin.  
  
Frodo's eyes widened at the bravado, but when he saw the hobbit strike a blow to the orc's knee, cutting down to the bone, he smiled; simple folk they may be, but noble, too. He closed his mouth and squared his shoulders to meet the enemy, glad for the many lessons they'd all had from Boromir.  
  
With a snarl of battle, Frodo launched himself at the orc nearest him.  
  
**  
  
A dozen or so orcs littered the ground around them, but still they poured out of the woods. Aragorn hacked yet another down. When he withdrew his sword, he stopped to scan the trees for Legolas, whistling through his teeth in signal.  
  
Only the sounds of battle met his call. He could afford no more time to the effort for out of the corner of his eye he saw an orc advance on Gimli from behind. Aragorn grabbed a dagger from his boot and launched it at the orc's back. He didn't see whether the dagger hit its mark for he had to duck as a scimitar sliced past his head, his quick reflexes the only reason his head still clung to his body. The orc's crude blade thudded into the tree at Aragorn's side. While the orc worked to tug it free, Aragorn brought down the hilt of his sword on the orc's skull, leaving the foul creature to fall in a heap in the mud.  
  
He jumped immediately away from both orc and tree when an arrow whizzed past to imbed itself in yet another orc that made to sneak up on him from behind.  
  
He followed the path of the arrow back to its source, but Legolas was already running down a branch midway up a tree to hop into a tree closer to Boromir and the hobbits. His pace was urgent, and he already had an arrow in hand ready to string.  
  
Aragorn squinted into the melee just as an orc backhanded Pippin, sending him sprawling and his weapon flying. Pippin lay stunned where he landed with the orc descending, and Boromir was the only one who saw the danger. The man from Gondor hacked his way through several orcs on his way to the rescue, but there was too much ground to cover and his desperation was plain.  
  
Pippin roused enough to realize the orc was approaching and frantically searched the ground for his sword. Seeing nothing he could use for a weapon, he swallowed hard and hobbled back away from the orc on all fours, much like a crab. The orc just chuckled, finding sport in the hobbit's fear. It finally grabbed Pippin by the foot, lifting him up and sniffing him like a dog might a bone.  
  
Pippin flailed about frantically, landing a well placed punch in the orc's privates. The orc howled in rage and started swinging the hobbit about with lethal intent. He used him as a club, striking him into Merry, who was fighting his own orc a few feet away, and then swinging him back the other way to send Sam sprawling.  
  
This was the advantage their adversaries needed. The orc Sam was battling lifted up his dull blade with both hands and, with a blood-thirsty squeal, made to bring it down onto the hobbit's head. Poised to strike, he seemed to freeze there, jerking only slightly before rolling his eyes down in wonder at the arrow that sprouted from his chest.  
  
Sam rolled away from the danger as Boromir tackled the orc that held Pippin, sending the half ling to roll along the ground under a pine.  
  
Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief at Sam's close escape, and jumped over another fallen orc in his effort to reach his fellows. His attention was immediately riveted to Boromir when he noticed the stiff way in which the man moved to pick himself up off the ground.  
  
The Lord of Gondor moved as if he was trudging frozen limbs through the snow, each movement a great effort and his breath heavy and hard. The orc had plenty of time to recover as the man made it to his knees and braced one foot to rise. Boromir turned just in time to fend off a blow from the orc, his sword raised to form a cross with the orc's blade. He and the orc found themselves locked in a battle of strength in which Boromir would surely lose, except for the dagger that plunged into the orc's ribcage.  
  
Boromir kept the pressure on the dagger's blade as he held it in place, patiently letting the orc's life force drain into the earth beneath them. When he pulled it out, he hastily hopped completely up from bended knee and back out of the orc's reach.  
  
Time seemed to slow down as the orc and Boromir looked in each other's eyes. Aragorn could see that Boromir used up his last measure of strength in his attack on the creature; his breath was coming in great bursts of cold steam and his features were pale and trembling. If the orc had any measure of strength left, the man would be unable to defend against it.  
  
Aragorn pushed himself hard to make it to the man from Gondor's side in time, but he was slowed down again when another orc charged him from his left. He only hacked at in passing.  
  
Boromir wobbled on his feet, his hop away from the orc throwing him off balance. He tried to recover it by taking another step backward, but only succeeded in landing hard on his backside. He looked up slowly, almost in resignation as the orc raised its blade and took a shuffling step toward him. It's grotesque parody of a mouth twitched into what was probably a gleeful smile as it recognized its opportunity at revenge; but the smile froze as the orc's eyes rolled up in its head. The thing fell sideways, pivoting before landing on the ground beside the Lord of Gondor. It was dead before it hit the ground.  
  
Aragorn arrived just as Boromir slumped backward and propped himself up with the hand holding the bloodied dagger. Aragorn leaned down to grasp the man's shoulder, gaining his eye with a steady gaze of his own. Boromir didn't look away, but let the man read his true state. Then he shook his head. "My strength is spent," he said. Grabbing at Aragorn's forearm with a strength that belied his declaration, he implored, "You must get the little ones to safety."  
  
Aragorn closed his eyes against what the man was asking of him and started to shake his head no.  
  
"You must go," the man spit, pushing Aragorn's help away in anger. "Else they'll capture the ring."  
  
Aragorn swallowed hard at the order, but finally nodded and rose to stand, leaving Boromir where he lay on the ground.  
  
** 


	7. The Thaw

WARM THOUGHTS: The Thaw

Merry helped Pippin to stand. The youngest hobbit was more shaken than injured; so once on his sizeable feet, he was led easily, if a little wobbily, over to where Frodo and Sam stood watching the two men argue.

When Aragorn took a half step back from Boromir, Sam turned worriedly to Frodo. "He wouldn't just leave him here, would he?"

Frodo didn't answer, but put a hand on Sam's forearm as he waited on the scene to unfold.

Aragorn finally dragged his gaze away from the stricken man, turning to look northward where Gimli was dispensing with another orc. The dwarf was panting hard from the exertion, but must have sensed Aragorn's gaze because he turned to look in his direction. Beyond him two more orcs could be seen running toward him through the wood.

Gimli waved the group on, understanding that the hobbits needed to escape the orcs overwhelming numbers. "I'll hold them ere the hobbits get a good start."

A swoosh through the trees had Legolas land by the dwarf. "And I'll ensure the dwarf's escape," he promised.

The dwarf looked up at the elf, clearly annoyed, but refrained from making comment so as to ensure his comrades departure.

Aragorn nodded once and turned toward the hobbits with a frown. Clamping Frodo on the shoulder, he said, "Head south until you find the river and then move along it east."

Frodo's eyes widened at the instruction.

"I will catch up," Aragorn hissed in promise, turning back toward Boromir to bodily haul him from the ground. When he had the man upright, he realized the hobbits hadn't moved. "Move!" he shouted.

They turned immediately and moved out into the forest away from the swarming orcs.

"Don't be a fool," Boromir hissed in Aragorn's ear. "You'd risk the ring's capture to drag dead weight?" he said harshly.

"The dead weight would be less of a burden if it would cease its prattling," Strider muttered darkly, ducking down so as to swing Boromir's arm around his shoulders to secure his weight. He didn't fail to notice how stone cold the limb. He looked back just once to assess the numbers that might be following.

Legolas was slaughtering the first line of orcs with his bow, and Gandalf had dispensed with the orc he'd been fighting to move more closely to the dwarf and elf. He angrily began to recite some words of magic, his staff held forward and high. The wizard's spell was unclear, but it did have the effect of stalling the orcs as they looked on in confusion. In any event, no orcs had yet breached their defenses.

To his credit, Boromir stopped arguing and used what strength he still possessed to keep moving. The two men hobbled away from the scene of carnage into the trees surrounding the clearing. They moved until the orc smell no longer fouled their senses, but the orc battle cry was not so easily daunted. Ere long, they had to stop so Boromir could rest. As they leaned against a tree, they heard a great crescendo of orc yells. The two men's eyes met at the sound.

Boromir took a deep breath and pulled himself up to his full height, moving away from Aragorn, using the tree to bear his weight. "You must go back," he stated.

Aragorn looked at the man, not wishing to leave him unprotected. Nor did he wish to leave the hobbits on their own, but he couldn't abandon their friends to torture or worse.

"Rest. I'll be back," he promised Boromir.

He turned and raced back along the path they'd taken out of the clearing, bursting back into it even as a line of orcs closed in on his fellows from three sides. He plunged headlong into the thicket, using the surprise attack to his advantage; but even as he did so, he knew they could never defeat the orcs' numbers, and the orcs were closing in, close to surrounding them.

After dispatching another orc, he took a step backward, wanting to keep the gap in the orcs' circle as an escape. He had but a moment then to assess their situation, idly noticing several orcs that seemed to have been burnt to death along the inner circle closest to the fellows. Gandalf's spell? He wondered.

"To the south," he heralded, hoping they could some how out maneuver the orcs. From what he'd seen, the smaller orcs were a twisted and mutilated lot, and their movements were awkward and labored. They may be able to out run them if given a chance. He didn't dare think about how dragging an ill Boromir would affect their chances.

Suddenly, a rain of arrows fell from the surrounding trees, causing the fellows to hunch down to make a smaller target; but the arrows' damage was reserved exclusively for the orcs.

Most of the orcs around them were felled by the first volley. The rest seemed to recognize that the balance of power had shifted and ran back into the wood. The fellows hesitantly rose from their shielded positions, warily squinting into the golden leaves to find what they hoped were their allies.

A lithe figure dropped from a tree, landing like a cat almost on top of Aragorn. Even Legolas jumped a little in surprise. The elf before him matched Legolas in height and coloring, but was dressed in a manner different than either a woodland elf or an elf from Rivendell. Instead he had a tunic of silver and a hard expression.

"You bring great evil here," he said.

Pippin sat facing the fire with his eyes closed and lips curled into a contented smile. The warmth and light of it set his face aglow.

"Ah, now that's more like it," he sighed.

Merry nodded. "We took it for granted to be sure. More than warm fingers and toes, though, I missed the cooked sausage and meal. Are they nearly ready?"

Sam's mouth scrunched up at his fellows as he continued to stir the pot. "It'll be ready when it's ready and not a moment before."

Pippin opened one eye to catch Merry's as they both fought down a smile at Sam's expense, but his smile faded as his gaze fell on Boromir, who sat against a tree a few yards beyond Merry. The man was being tended to by two of the new brand of elves. The dwarf stood restlessly by his side, given to an impromptu pacing away and back again as he muttered under his breath, clearly distrustful of the elves ministrations.

"Do you think they'll be able to help him?" Pippin asked of the hobbit group at large, forgetting the fire in favor of the man from Gondor.

Frodo put a comforting hand on the younger hobbit's shoulder. "They'll certainly try.

Pippin shifted his gaze to the opposite side of the clearing where Aragorn and Legolas argued with two more of the elves.

From the whispered argument, he could understand little, for the words were wielded in the elfish tongue; but one thing seemed clear, the elves wanted the company to move away from their wood.

Aragorn was getting frustrated. Hands on his hips, he kept turning away from the elves words, his head dipping and his body twisting in what looked like an attempt not to forcefully interrupt.

"Will they try? They don't seem inclined to help us in general," Pippin observed.

He finally gave Frodo a wan smile and rose from their group to check on Boromir.

Although he couldn't have seen his approach, the elf squatting before Boromir offered, "We've given him some miruvor, which should help restore some warmth; but we are not yet sure what is causing this strange condition."

Pippin just nodded, his mouth slightly opened as his eyes scanned up and down his friend.

Boromir's eyes opened to look back at him in return. "I feel much better, little one," he said with a small smile.

Pippin's mouth closed with a snap and his lips pressed together in a glum smile as he nodded back.

Boromir patted the ground beside him. "Come, Master Peregin, and distract me with tales of a sunny day in the shire."

Pippin nodded and very solemnly followed the direction, although once sitting beside the man, he grabbed the large hand in his own two and sidled up close in an effort to lend his body heat, concerned that the man still shivered and his teeth still chattered.

"Very well, Boromir. You can at least think warm thoughts…"

The pitch-black of night in the wood found Boromir surrounded and partially covered by sleeping hobbits. A roaring fire in the middle of the clearing frightened away the worst of the chill.

True to course, he lay awake. In spite of all the efforts that were being taken on his behalf, he still felt a deep chill that seemed to be eating him from within. He'd long since become convinced that it was a spell from Pirscha, probably delivered during the pummeling from the enraged wave.

Feeling the cold eat him from within, he did not know whether it would ultimately turn him into a block of ice or harden his heart against the hobbits that now rested by his side, and thus ensure that the vision he'd seen within Pircsha's lair came true.

The night was still but for the fire's crackle. His heart wasn't hardened yet, he thought, feeling a strange contentment at being the object of the hobbits concern, and, in fact, in the middle of the pile he often envied.

As he stared blankly into the glow of the fire, he missed the other-earthly glow that approached from the East. It was perhaps not as brilliant as the fire's flame, but served to illuminate its host. The man gasped when a lithe figure dressed all in shimmering white suddenly stood before him. At first, he thought it was some other earthy messenger, but then he noticed it was flanked by the elves of the wood on either side. It reached up to remove its hood, and when the hood fell away, his heart lurched , for his first thought was that the golden hair fairy smiling down on him was his mother, Finduilas, coming to serve as his guide to the nether world. The musical laughter that spoke to him only within his head convinced him otherwise. Now his heart thudded in fright as he recognized it must be the lady of the wood herself who'd come to visit him.

Do not fear, young one,> the voice whispered, but the soft smile did not break to impart the words. I am come to fend off the spell that has settled on your soul, for your role is not yet over in the fate of Middle Earth.>

"But my role is unclear to me," he whispered desperately, his voice setting Merry to stir at his side."

It may not be for you to understand. You can do naught else but follow your heart.> She knelt down in what must have been a narrow space between one hobbit body and the next. Hovering over the man, a hand reached out to cradle his cheek. Your struggle will soon be over,> she said, her eyes radiating sympathy bordering on pity. Then she closed her eyes as she pulled her hand away from his face to splay across it, an inch or two from actual touch. It was only then he recognized the ring on her finger, which slowly grew to glow in the same white light that had first surrounded the lady in her approach through the wood.

When Boromir woke the next morning, he felt refreshed from several hours sleep and with the chill that encased him thawed. He looked around the clearing at the activity of his fellows and looked for signs of either the lady or markings of her presence, either in scorched earth from her power, or in the expression of his friends.

The contingent of elves that had remained with them upon nightfall no longer stood sentinel, but there was no other sign that he had really been visited.

Aragorn stood up from rolling his bed roll and noticed Boromir awake. He looked at him quizzically as he approached. "How fare you this morning?"

Boromir schooled his expression, realizing whatever magic had befallen him was now gone. "I'm well, and I suspect, after a generous helping of Sam's fare, I'll be ready to travel."

Aragorn gave him a short nod. "The lady sent word that the dale and river is populated with orcs set on our capture…She advises we ride the skirts of the Misty Mountain into Fanghorn, where orcs fear to tread."

"Humans, too," Boromir muttered darkly, turning from his spot so that he might boost himself to standing, but not before gently rolling Pippin out of the way.

"If you're as well as you say," Aragorn said in mild rebuke, "we'll set off after breakfast."

"And if I'm not?" Boromir asked, his gaze snapping back to Aragorn to emphasize his point. "You do not have the luxury of sentiment if you are to fulfill the quest," he reminded him. "More depend on its success than we few."

Aragorn looked down at the sleeping Pippin so carefully rearranged by the Lord of Gondor before returning the man's gaze. With a small smile and raised brow, he said, "No sentiment will sway me, Lord of Gondor. In this, I'll follow your example." With that, he turned away to rouse the rest of their fellows, leaving it to Boromir to rouse the sleepy hobbit at his feet.

Boromir scowled after his future king, but bent just the same to wake the hobbit with utmost gentle care.

The elves of the wood had left parting gifts for the fellows on their journey, including new provisions, cloaks and a flask of the potion given to Boromir the night before. So stocked, the fellows embarked, heading south to cut a path back toward the line of mountains.

As they neared the border of the golden wood, Boromir looked up at the towering peaks now visible and couldn't help but shudder. Who was to say whether the chill that gripped him lay dormant, or whether proximity to its master would give it strength in one final push to claim him.

He was interrupted in his musings when he heard Sam muttering under his breath. "We were going the other way yesterday mourn, I'm sure of it, Master Frodo. "We'll never get there at this rate."

"It may take longer, Sam, but this way we have a chance of getting there in one piece."

"I'm sorry Mister Frodo, it's just, well, that mountain doesn't like us," he said, his eyes sliding to the right at the biggest peak among the three, the sky still looking ominous about it.

Frodo laughed. "You speak truth, against which none will argue, but we're heading south, and we certainly have no intention of going back up it."

"My concern is that its sisters will conspire with it to throw some snow our way, or worse. So far, rock, water and beast have all conspired against us. I'm just waiting for the air to abandon us. Then we'll truly be done."

"Oh it's not as bad as all that, Master Sam," Gimli grunted from just behind them. "While enemies are thick about us, allies have also sprouted up from unexpected places." While Legolas was walking next to Aragorn at the front of the line, his head cocked a little backward at the remark.

"So, your opinion of the elves has improved?" Frodo asked, his eyes firmly on the elf as he noticed he was listening.

"If the lady's anything to go by…" Gimli started.

"Lady?" Boromir asked, finally drawn from his dark thoughts into the conversation. "Then you saw her too?" he asked as he hastened to catch up, his desperation on this point plain.

"Aye, in the evening last she came upon us," Gimli replied, looking very puzzled by the man's manner. "She spoke to each of us in turn."

Boromir cocked one brow at finding this confirmation that the lady wasn't a figment from a dream.

"Don't you remember her?" Gimli asked. "It would be ashame to forget someone so fair and wise."

"No, I remember her," Boromir replied absently, but he was some where else in his mind's eye, where his time with the lady replayed. "She was a vision."

"That she was," Gimli whole-heartedly agreed. "A vision," he boasted.

"It sounds like Gimli has developed quite a fondness for her," Frodo said, laughing.

Gimli frowned and snorted, refusing to look at the hobbit and be the object of his tease.

Boromir smiled at the dwarf's discomfort, clapping him on the shoulder and chuckling himself.

Gandalf heard the small eruption of laughter behind him, but ignored it in favor of pensively scanning the mountains to the point on the horizon where they disappeared in the south.

While he accepted the Lady of the Wood's advice, he still stewed with worry at the idea of passing so close to Isengard. While he knew few dared to tread in Fanghorn, he wasn't sure that they could count on that fact in the face of Saruman's growing power, feeding as it was off of Sauron's strength.

Noticing Gandalf's pensive stare, Aragorn asked, "You'd choose another route?"

"No," Gandalf answered in a deep, resigned tone. "We follow the path as it is laid out for us. In the end it is our conviction that will determine our success, not which fork in the road we choose."

Aragorn squinted in the distance himself, but he had different concerns than those of the wizard. The bright sunshine against which they squinted left him feeling exposed and vulnerable where they walked along the grassy plain, not even scrub or brush scattered along their path for cover. He imagined enemies on all side searching for them. His fear was that even in Fanghorn, the dark woods made up of myth and mystery, they'd just meet another type of enemy not yet fathomable.

He sighed as he considered how far they'd come and far they had yet to travel. It seemed unlikely they'd meet with success without incurring casualties along the way. Though he'd not give the Lord of Gondor quarter in his warning, he did wonder if he'd meet the challenge if forced to choose the quest over the lives of his fellows.

Though his fate as the heir to Gondor's throne should have held with it an understanding of his obligations, his life as a ranger meant that he often operated as a loner, not forced to make a choice such as Boromir foretold. The man understood better than he the responsibility that went with the crown, and he seemed able to see through him to the misgivings he had about his fated course.

"It's gratitude for a host's graciousness, nothing more," Gimli scowled, obviously trying to end the hobbits teasing.

Aragorn smiled at the argument starting behind him and looked to the wizard, but Gandalf's gaze was still on a point on the horizon.

. (Continued)


End file.
